


Intermission

by Scrawlers



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 10:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8140528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrawlers/pseuds/Scrawlers
Summary: After returning to Fleur-De-Lis Labs following the Primal Kyogre & Primal Groudon incident, Alan assesses his injuries and has a talk with Lizardon.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place between Act III and Act IV of The Strongest Mega Evolution specials. Additionally, I headcanon that Alan actually nicknamed his charizard "Lizardon" back when his charizard was still a charmander, hence the use of that name here.

Alan managed to keep it together until he returned to Fleur-De-Lis Labs.

The plane ride made it easy, if he was being honest. Lysandre’s pilots made sure the flight was smooth, and although the constriction of the seat belts over his ribs and shoulders was more than a little uncomfortable every time he tried to breathe, holding himself still helped stave off the stabbing pains that rocketed down his shoulders, back, and chest at the slightest movement. It was harder when they landed and disembarked; Alan had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from wincing, and when he excused himself by saying he wanted to go take a shower, he departed with a curt nod instead of the customary respectful bow he usually used to excuse himself from Lysandre’s presence.

But if Lysandre noticed any odd behavior from Alan he didn’t comment on it, and for that Alan was grateful. It made it much easier for him to make his way to the large bathroom located just off the medical ward, particularly since all of Lysandre’s other employees practiced their customary habit of ignoring him entirely whenever he passed them. After stopping in at the medical ward just long enough to grab a bottle of painkillers from one of the cabinets, Alan slipped into the bathroom, locked the door behind him, and then carefully stripped off his gloves, jacket, and shirt so he could survey the damage in the large mirror above the sinks.

It was as bad as he had thought, if he was honest with himself. Bruises (most of them already settled into a cloudy blue-purple color) mottled his skin, spreading from his collarbone down his chest, and—from what he could see of it when he twisted around to try and view it in the mirror (and failed to bite back a gasp at the spike of pain when he did so)—across his back. Alan’s lips quirked in a small, humorless smile as he turned back to face the mirror again. The bruises were so plentiful it almost looked like an over-excited smeargle had decided to use him as a canvas. If he didn’t feel like Primal Groudon had stomped on him on top of throwing him across the ice like an unwanted pokédoll, he might have been able to make himself believe it.

He reached toward the sink’s tap to turn the water on, but as he did he felt something shake in his pocket—a little nudge against his leg not unlike how Lizardon used to always get his attention when he was still a charmander. With a smile that was a bit more genuine (if no less wan) this time, Alan fished Lizardon’s pokéball out of his pocket, and pressed the center button twice to allow Lizardon to occupy the other half of the bathroom.

Despite the spaciousness of the room for humans, Lizardon still had to duck his head a little to fit comfortably, his tail curled around him. Alan had made sure to heal him prior to leaving Hoenn—had refused to leave until a Nurse Joy gave Lizardon the all-clear, despite Lysandre’s repeated suggestions that Lizardon could be treated here at the lab—but even though the flame on Lizardon’s tail now blazed as fiercely as it ever did, Alan couldn’t scrub the image of the sputtering blue flame from his mind any more than he could shake the lingering nausea in his gut. Lizardon had nearly died. He _could_ have died, easily, and Alan had been powerless to prevent it, had been powerless to do anything more than recall Lizardon to his pokéball and hope—pray— _beg_ whatever or whoever would listen that it would be enough.

A soft cry broke through his thoughts, and Alan shook his head (which throbbed at the sudden movement) as he tore his eyes away from Lizardon’s healthy tail flame. Lizardon was staring at him, his spikes lowered gently back against his head, another questioning, concerned rumble leaving his snout when he saw he had Alan’s attention.

Alan forced a smile as he turned back to the sink. “I’m fine,” he said, as he turned the tap on. Lizardon growled again, a little more loudly and certainly annoyed this time, and Alan rolled his eyes. “All right, I will _be_ fine, then. Is that better?”

Lizardon made a noise of grudging assent—an _‘I guess’_ if Alan had ever heard one—and once again Alan’s lips twitched into a tiny smile as he splashed cold water on his face to try and wake himself up. His eyes felt rubbery, and he thought that if he let himself collapse somewhere—anywhere, really, he was no stranger to sleeping outside on the ground if the situation called for it—he wouldn’t wake up again for days. But he couldn’t afford to rest, and certainly couldn’t afford to _sleep_ when both Lizardon and Manon had nearly died because of his failings. He needed to get stronger, and he couldn’t do that if he wasted time sleeping.

Besides, if the brief naps he had taken on the plane ride back to Kalos were any indication, it wasn’t like anything pleasant awaited him in his dreams, anyway.

Alan dried his face off with a hand towel tossed over a small towel rack nearby, and then pulled the borrowed bottle of painkillers out of his pocket. He set the cap to the side and tossed two pills into his mouth before he bent over the sink to chase them with a gulp of water from the tap. After a moment of consideration, he downed one more painkiller and chased that one the same way. Two would be enough if he was going to take time to rest, but given that he didn’t have time for that, he couldn’t take the risk of an aching shoulder or throbbing migraine slowing him down.

Lizardon loosed another low croon, urging Alan to rest, and in response Alan gave him another smile as he crossed the room to join Lizardon on the other side.

“I told you, I’m—I’ll be fine,” he said, amending his words midway through as Lizardon gave him a stern look. He gently scratched up along Lizardon’s head, grateful for how warm Lizardon’s scales were now, in comparison to how glacial he had been to the touch after Primal Groudon’s attack back in Hoenn. “But how are _you_? That’s the better question.”

Lizardon snorted, and grumbled as he tapped his burning tail against the linoleum.

“Yes, but I’m not talking about that,” Alan said, and Lizardon huffed again. “I meant . . . everything else.”

Lizardon rumbled, low and reassuring despite his clearly lingering exasperation, and ducked his head to knock it lightly against Alan’s. Despite . . . everything, Alan laughed a little, and bumped his head right back against Lizardon’s.

“Thank you,” he said, and he wrapped his arms around Lizardon’s head, scratching along his spikes as he held him in one of their usual hugs. Lizardon made another happy sound as he nuzzled his head against Alan’s temple, but as Alan caught sight of Lizardon’s tail again, his smile faded. “And . . . I’m sorry. For what happened, and . . . for always putting you in that kind of danger.”

Lizardon went completely still in Alan’s embrace before he pulled back, and glared at Alan for only a second more before he raised one claw and flicked him in the forehead. It wasn’t hard enough to seriously hurt, but it was enough to make Alan stumble back a little, and clap a hand over the spot as he gave Lizardon an indignant look.

“What was that f—?”

Lizardon cut him off with a small roar, that—despite its low volume—was still enough to echo off the walls, ceiling, and mirror, and cause another painful throb through Alan’s head. Lizardon noticed—Alan could tell that he did by the squint of his eyes—but his hackles didn’t lower, and his stare was still burning as he continued to growl.

“I know,” Alan said, and as Lizardon’s growling grew louder, he raised his voice. “I _know_ you _want_ to be there, and that means . . .” he raised one hand to rub at the back of his neck, and swallowed as he tried to find the right words, “. . . more than . . . anything, really. But it’s still a lot for me to ask of you, and—”

Lizardon interjected with another sudden snarl, and when Alan met his eyes again, he lightly poked Alan in the chest over his heart with one claw. Before Alan could say or do anything more, Lizardon jabbed his claw back at his own chest, and then poked Alan once more. He crooned again as he did so, saying, _‘See?’_

Alan sighed, and as he did the tension left his shoulders, leaving a dull ache in its wake. “Yeah,” he said. “I get it. Thank you, Lizardon.” The ire left Lizardon’s eyes, replaced by relief, his snarl relaxing into a smile. Alan smiled as well, and used one hand to cup under Lizardon’s jaw as he used his other to stroke Lizardon’s snout. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Lizardon nuzzled his snout against Alan’s hands, loosing a warm and teasing little sound, and Alan laughed softly himself in response.

“Yeah. You’re completely right about that, too,” he said. “But that’s why we make such a good team, isn’t it?”

Lizardon hummed in agreement and gently bumped his head against Alan’s again, and Alan gave him a couple final scratches before he turned back toward his discarded shirt and jacket so he could pull both back on again. After all, as much as part of him might have wanted to just stay locked in the bathroom with Lizardon forever, he still had a job to do, a promise to keep, and—far more importantly—people to protect. And with the exception of Lizardon, none of them would be protected if the two of them never left the bathroom.

Once he had finished dressing (a feat that was slightly easier now that he had medicine to dull the pain), he pulled Lizardon’s pokéball out of his pocket and turned back to face his best friend.

“Ready to go train?” he asked. Lizardon gave Alan a _look_ and small snort ( _‘Only if you are’_ ), and Alan gave him a wan smile in response.

“I always am,” he said, and Lizardon’s expression shifted to a clear, _‘Yeah, I know_ ’ before Alan recalled him, and slipped his pokéball back into his pants pocket. After a moment of thought, he tucked the bottle of painkillers in the pocket on the other side.

None of Lysandre’s employees would talk to him if they could avoid it, and usually, that was how Alan preferred it. But now he needed training—needed it _badly_ —and that meant that he had to involve someone other than himself. If none of them would talk to him, that meant that he would have to talk to Lysandre . . . and now that they were back at the lab and things were calmed down, Lysandre was bound to notice if he couldn’t sell the idea that everything was fine and he was fit enough to train. Alan took a deep breath, locking his jaw against the ache in his ribs as he did so, and gathered every last drop of his resolve before he opened the bathroom door.

He could pull this off. He had to. The only other option was failure, and that—for the sake of the people he loved—was not an option.

With that thought steeling him, he set off to find Lysandre.


End file.
